I said I would never go back to brown hair.

I said I would never allow myself to relapse.

I said I would never question my worth again.

I said I would never stop taking my meds.

I said I would never give up on the love I thought was mine.

I said I would never lose myself.

But

I let my roots grow too long.

I let myself fall back into old ways.

I let myself be overcome with shame and self doubt to the point of collapse.

I let myself “forget” how badly I needed my pills.

I let myself stop chasing a love that didn’t want to stay.

I let myself forget who I am.

I don’t recognize my reflection any more.

All I see is the roots. The inches of darkness that symbolize how long it’s been since I looked in the mirror. Since I cared about myself. The roots that stand out against my skin and my eyes. The roots I swore I would never let be this long again.

I don’t have anything left to give. My heart feels like it’s missing from my chest. It must be there, I can feel it beating. But the emotions I have been so proud of it producing, the love, the joy, the excitement, are gone. I only have a reminder of its presence because of the aching feeling of loss.

Are hearts responsible for the intensity of loneliness? Are they the ones that send us images of faces, and memories we wish we could forget?

If so, my heart is very much alive, just working a different job.

My roots have grown out so long I don’t know if there’s any saving it.

I said I would never have brown hair again. It symbolized a time I didn’t want to remember.

What happens when I want to forget the blonde too?

I said I would never have brown hair again.

I said I would never lose you.

Nothing seems to matter like it did.

Maybe I’ll go back to brown.

Maybe I will forget.